Lay Your Weary Head To Rest
by LetGoLetOpenDoorsOfPurgatory
Summary: Death is nothing but an old friend to the Winchester brothers.


**A/N- I wrote this before the Season 8 finale and I just found it again so I wanted to post it. Enjoy!**

Blood spatters out of a large male's mouth and into his hand. The red liquid coats his hand and smears against his lips. Sam's thin eyebrows pull together. He should be used to his but he isn't. Even after all the Trials and the hell he's gone through to get here he's still not used to the damn blood coming from his body. He's still not used to the pain. He's not fearful of the Trials, but he fears what is happening to him. He fears the fact he's probably going to die. Dean was not pleased in this at all.

Dean knew he was helpless in this situation in the start. That's what frustrated him the most. The person he loved most was suffering and he didn't have the foggiest idea of how to fix him. It didn't help Sam insisted he was fine. He wasn't. Dean knew he was hurting. He knew just well Sam was hurting even if the stubborn ass wouldn't admit to it. Dean had grown up all his life taking care of Sammy. To not be able to carry out that duty seemed to be a travesty in the eyes of Dean. A disappointment not only to John but a disappointment to himself and Sam.

Dean had made Sam promise he'd grow to be an old man who had to chug Viagra just to get it up – but as time had progressed through these God created Trials he was beginning to become more and more aware of the fact it probably wasn't going to happen.

Stupid, stupid. He shouldn't have allowed Sam to do it. He should've found another Hell-hound. He should have hunted the mutt down and bathed in its blood without it even being a question – but damn it, Sam had stepped in the way, insisting Dean was on a suicide mission. Maybe he was. Maybe it'd be easier to be dead right now. It would definitely be easier than having to deal with watching Sam ride the highway to Hell. Truth be told, Dean was tired – but he kept his head up and swallowed everything down, taking it all in stride. No matter how much he wanted to shout, lash out or anything of the sort he continued to swallow down his pain.

He didn't matter. Dean didn't matter – Sammy came first and Sammy mattered. Sam needed to be safe before Dean was. Sam needed to be happy and healthy before Dean was. Even when Dean was sure he should've done away with Sam because of his outright backstab he still couldn't do it. The two always came running back to one another. Poisonous in many ways – yet something neither of them could stop. They'd willingly admit it to one another. They could treat one another with respect, love and care, yet at the same time their worst enemies seemed to be themselves from time to time.

Day by day Dean had taken the coming train wreck. He swallowed down the pain and he braved a smile. Nothing could have prepared him for this moment; this very key moment he knew that could mean either the beginning of a great life for the two Winchesters...or the beginning of the end.

Dean stands before the male on the floor who coughs up his own blood. He feels his stomach twist nauseously. Sam had completed the last Trial.

"Sammy?" A voice calls to him. The disoriented man looks up to the dirty-blonde before him. He's concerned. Sam blinks, trying to gather himself. It's not working. The world's blurring and his heart is pumping two times to fast."D-Dean?" Sam calls to Dean, trying to rise to his feet. He stumbles. Dean's there to catch him. There's a flash of white in Sam's vision and he's taken back to when he took his first steps and stumbled. Dean caught him then. Dean's catching him now.

"Sammy, you alright?" Dean asks. Sam hesitates in his brother's arms. He looks up to him, bloody and bruised. He gives a shaky nod. Dean knows differently. Another white flash and Sam's back to when he was about age 5 and had taken a fall because of bully. Dean had taken care of the wounds and made sure Sammy was alright. Dean had also beaten the crap out of the kid and gotten in trouble, but Dean had swore to Sam it was worth it.

"C'mon Sasquatch." He encourages. He tries to lift Sam to his feet. Sam stumbles into Dean's chest and Dean feels the panic rise. "Sammy?" His voice is rough, breaking slightly.

"'m fine." Sam mumbles in response. He lifts to his feet despite the pain that radiates through him. He can feel the pinpricks all up and down his spine. The pain is starting to make itself known. It's getting worse. With every move he makes Sam feels like he's spiraling faster and faster toward death. It was almost suffocating, but he hides it. He braves the pain with a smile. He can feel his insides twisting, his nerves reacting to every stab of whatever invisible force was tearing him apart. Some God. That's all Sam can think.

Some God. He left us all for dead in this God-forsaken place. Some God, he abandoned his children.

Fear begins to wrap it's dark tendrils around Sam's mind. He's becoming more clouded by the male remembers the rules of the Trials. Sam's trying not to be scared, but he is. He's fearing it with every fiber of his being. He's unsure of what to do as he stands in his brother's grip. Dean's not letting go. He's not going to and he doesn't plan on it until he's perfectly sure Sam's going to be alright. Sam lays his hands on his brother's arms that are extended to keep him upright. His nails dig ever so slightly into the cloth of Dean's navy blue jacket. Sam blinks and allows his hazel green eyes to meet with Dean's jade green. They're filled with concern. Sam gives a bloodied smile as he drops his hands from Dean's arms. Dean hesitantly lets his fall away.

"Let's do this?" Sam suggests, pointing to the bag Dean had tossed to the side at the door of the old warehouse. Dean nods."Let's do this." Their movements were quick. They cross the room in a few quick strides. Dean bows down to get the bag but is soon thrown backwards, the doors flying open. Sam looks startled and can hear Dean's grunt of pain from being thrown across the room. With widened hazel eyes he watches as Crowley swoops in with a flourish of his black cloak. Sam swallows a bit as he stands in a defensive stance in front of the duffel bag. There's no time to waste. Before Sam can even decipher what's going on Crowley goes for Dean.

Sam draws the angel sword he had been given awhile back. He's about to go for the attack. He watches Dean rise to his feet, armed with his demon blade. If only looks could kill. Dean was unamused, angry, and ready to be rid of sonovabitches like Crowley. He dealt with this crap all his lief. He wasn't going to be stopped now. Him nor Sammy were going to be stopped. All his life he had dealt with loss, grief, and being told no one cared. He grew up too quickly – but Dean wouldn't change it for anything at this point. If it meant he had Sam, then so be it. He'd live this life a thousand times over just to make sure Sam was alright. That's all that ever mattered to Dean – Sammy. Dean flips the blade around in his hand so that he has a better grip. Sam steps forward."No, Sam." Dean's voice is ice cold. Crowley turns to face Sam with an amused look."You heard him, Moose." Crowley says with one of his usual smug smiles. "Scurry along." Sam stares at Dean. Their eyes meet. The two hold a wordless conversation – Sam now knows his orders. Dean gives a slight nod to Sam and Sam gives one back. Crowley makes the lunge – Dean and the demon begin to battle it out.

Sam turns around and hits the ground, scrambling to get the ritual items from the duffel. He sets them out all in a neat little space. His hands are working as quickly as physically possible but he knows if he does one wrong thing he can blow this for the both of them. He can hear the sounds of metal on metal, grunts of pain, and cat-calls of insults. Sam tries not to pay any attention. He's beginning to drop the ingredients into the bowl. Another shout fills the air, Sam begins to become frantic. The pain from earlier seems to have sub-sided. As he slides the silver blade across his arm he watches the crimson red pour onto the mixture in the bowl. He then reads off the spell and sets the paper alight, dropping it onto everything. The flames rush upward in a grand display. The fire seems to extend outward from the bowl as if it's seeking out Crowley and the other demons. Sam's overcome by a white hot pain and is forced to the ground, screaming out. His screams echo and his body writhes. He's done for. He clenches his eyes closed. He doesn't know that his arm is glowing hot red, or even notice. The pain is swarming everywhere. It literally feels like someone has dropped him into a vat of acid.

Dean's fight was growing desperate. He had to end Crowley. Dean wanted the personal pleasure of ending the son of a bitch. Lash after lash is dealt from both sides. Dean, brilliantly aged and practiced by the monsters of Purgatory and years on the job, isn't backing down. His jade eyes burn with determination and Crowley's just frustrated by now. Dean's pretty sure the demon is questioning in the back of his mind why wouldn't he just die but that wasn't something to focus in on. He needed to focus that blade through the demon's chest. More lashes are dealt. Grunts from both parties are heard as they shuffle across the floor of the abandoned building that had been left to rot. They scuffle from side to side. Dean's got blood running from his nose and Crowley's gotten a good jab to his right arm. Dean vaguely remembers hearing the demon curse something about how he had just destroyed the demon's couture fashion – Dean couldn't give two shits less, either.

There's a brilliant flash of white and orange. The two are caught off guard. Frozen in a compromising position Dean glances over to Sam. He's staring in horror at the fire swarming from the bowl where he had preformed the ritual. Even as he stands quite a few feet away Dean cannot help but to feel his eyes widen at the sight. Dean realizes his upper-hand. Before he's given any more time to hesitate he swings upward. Crowley's meat suit flashes orange, the body now a hollow shell, the demon forever banished to wherever it was demons went after they were killed. Dean never gave that much thought. Perhaps it was an endless abyss of darkness, or something worse than Hell – worse than anything any mind, supernatural or not, could create. Dean steps away from the body that collapses to the floor in a crash. Crowley's dead.

Dean feels a sense of relief. He was fine. All was well. Moments later the fire that had been created by Sam's completion of the ritual swarms Crowley and the body is reduced to ash, almost as if God wanted to be sure there was no physical way the demon could come back, even if gone forever. The fire dissipates and the ashes left behind blow away with the sound of what could be described as angel wings. A scream of pain brings Dean from his relieved .

Dean turns to where Sam lies on the ground. Dean sprints across the room. Suddenly he starts to feel dizzy. There's a sharp pain in his side. As he stops short in front of Sam he can feel the warmth running down from his right side. It's trickling down his hip and leg in a rushing wave of warm stickiness. Dean knows he's as good as dead. Not even running to the Impala with Sammy now could save him. He'd bleed out before he got to the hospital. Now that Dean thinks about it...Crowley had made a movement for him at the same time he had moved for Crowley. It made sense. That overwhelming sense of relief had trumped the pain Dean had felt from the blow. Dean's pain tolerance was high anyways. He feels his throat go dry.

He might've killed Crowley and Sam might've closed the gates with that fiery showcase...but Dean was going to leave Sam. All alone. Dean's won in many ways...but he's lost in the worst way imaginable. He slowly lowers to his knees before Sam.

The pain is mounting. Sam doesn't even know what to do now. He's screaming and his eyes are actually blurring with tears. It feels like a demon had been unleashed inside of him. The inside of his body feels like it's being torn apart piece by piece, his soul being decimated, and his skin on fire. He writhes across the floor and is suddenly up on his knees as Dean tries to embrace him. Sam weakly pushes Dean away. Just in time, too. The long haired male lunges to the side and a steady stream of dark red comes pouring from his mouth. Some of it back washes and he can feel a burning sensation in his nose as he chokes on the metallic tasting blood. The stream comes to an abrupt halt. Sam's throat feels like it's on fire and as he lays with his hands in the pool of blood, his knees and legs becoming soaked by the mixture that slowly encircles him he can only look up to Dean with bloodshot eyes and a bloodied mouth. He gives a weak smile. Despite the pain he's aware of the fact they've done it. They made it to the end of the line – there's no more demons to fear – no more deals, no more loss - .. no more pain.

"Sam." Dean laments. His voice is drenched with pain. Sam shakes his head to his brother with a slight scowl. He can't hear it. He cannot hear Dean speak. He doesn't want his last memory of Dean to be him destroyed like this. Sam's breathing is labored as he tries to catch his breath again. The Winchester shifts a bit, trying to remove himself from the puddle of blood but only finds himself heaving again. This time the pain is more profound. Added atop of the rest of the physical trauma he was enduring this was making Sam feel like he had been locked in a tiny box.

"You promised me, damn it!" Dean roars suddenly. Sam looks to Dean once the stream stops. His eyes are filled with pain."I know.." Sam responds. His voice is cracking and weak. It doesn't even sound like Sam – he's almost lifeless. As swarmed with pain Sam is he knows his brother isn't in any better condition. Dean's got a black eye. His ring finger and pinky finger are swollen and slowly turning purple, his wedding ring from when he and Sam had taken the dive for the most sinful thing they'd ever do in their life was beginning to look like it was two sizes too small. Dean's skin is three shades too pale and his eyes are becoming darker with the more blood he loses. His shirt is splattered in blood, some of which Sam is sure belongs to him. Sam's eyes haven't missed the large stain on Dean's side. It's too large not to notice. Sam cringes as another round of pain consumes him. Dean's dying too.

'It's o-okay Dean." Sam gasps out, he breaks out into a violent cough. He feels Dean's arms secure around him. And even as Sam begins to fade in and out of consciousness he finds himself lifted up from the puddle of blood.

"If you're gonna die you ain't dyin' in your own blood. Understood?" Dean growls. He uses all of his fading strength to lift Sam up.

"And it ain't gonna be in a warehouse, Sammy." Dean pushes onward. He feels his strength fading. His heart is struggling to beat. It's a slow, mournful sound. The jade eyes that were once full of spark and life are slowly fading to a dead look. As Dean shuffles through the door his life plays before his eyes. Between all the good memories of taking care of Sam he suffers the pain filled ones all over again.

Mary burns on the ceiling – signaling the start of Dean's mostly miserable being stabbed directly in his spinal cord on his birthday, thus sending Dean into the choice of selling his soul. He couldn't live with Sam torture he endured in into the torturous ways of Hell as Alistair's little dying in the hospital after selling his soul for screwing Ruby and binging on the demon blood, becoming a monster. Sam throwing himself into the Cage for Dean's and Ben – having to leave them and Ellen's deaths, Ash being soulless. Castiel betraying him and exploding into nothingness in that lake when the Leviathans took 's death by Dick going mental because of the break in his childhood Winchester's of it. All of it was a big ole' mixture of grief and loss – the only light during all of it being Sam.

Flash after flash Dean feels the effects of the happenings. It hurts to see all of this again. Even so as he steps out into the starry night and collapses to the ground with Sam he still braves a broken, pained smile. His emerald eyes telling the story of the Winchester Legacy. Sam tumbles to the side but a groan is heard. Dean's on the ground but unable to move as his head swims. His right hand outstretches to Sam who's now turned his head to him. Their fingers barely touch. Dean tries to speak but it comes out as a weakened groan,"Sammy."

Sam feels his stomach twist uneasily at Dean's voice. His bloodied fingers brush against Dean's. They're too far apart and they're both unable to move. Sam's eyes flicker to the sky above them. The moon shines bright and the stars twinkle, covering the velvet black in a decorative blanket."It's o-okay Dean." Sam says. His voice is soft as well. He's fading as quickly as Dean. "It's gonna be alright." It was Sam's turn to comfort Dean.

"I'm here, I'm here." Dean's fingers twitch against Sam's and Sam's eyes flicker to Dean's. He tilts his head upward slight from the ground. As the light leaves his eyes he watches one single tear slide down Dean's face."...'m always here, Dean." Sam breathes. His chest rises once more. "'M always here." Sam promises. His eyes shift from his brother. The two had loved one another in a way that was looked down upon everywhere – but they hadn't cared. They bypassed all of that sack of crap and they had done it. Even if other supernatural creatures existed, the worst of the worst had been rid of. Sam could die in peace. He wouldn't be leaving anyone behind. There was always other hunters to take care of ghosts and vampires. Always. Sam's chest falls. It rises again, for the last time. His weary head falls to the ground limply. The shuddering sound comes from him as he exhales his last breath on the god-forsaken place he and Dean had called home - his body now at eternal rest alongside Dean's.

And it's just like that Sam Winchester greets Death like an old friend.


End file.
